


Promises We Love to Make

by TehChou



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Community: kink_bingo, Flogging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehChou/pseuds/TehChou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles contemplates while he takes care of Erik.</p><p>Written for Kink Bingo square 'Whipping/Flogging'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises We Love to Make

The salve is warm between his fingers. Erik mumbles something unintelligible into the sheets; expressive discomfort. Charles smiles a little secretly (Erik cannot see, laid on his belly as he is) and traces a line along the hot side of a welt. The heat radiating from the angry line draws him, pulling him in. Beneath the damaged skin Erik’s muscles are injured from constant tensing, though he lies languid beneath Charles’ questing fingers.

“You need to learn to relax, darling,” Charles murmurs, chiding.

“Hmm, I have you for that, don’t I,” _and I don’t mind the pain._

Charles snorts.

“The history of your thoughts are traced out on your body, Erik.” He kisses a welt. “Open like a book for anyone who knows how to read it.”

“And what of what you’ve made for me, Charles?”

Charles smile goes soft.

“That’s for us alone,” and he digs into a hard knot of muscle, heedless of the slice that crosses over it. Erik hisses through his teeth. The salve is cooling on the skin, heated against the muscle.

“Good,” Erik says. “I think there’s as much of you there as me, and I rather like to keep that to myself alone.”

Reckless, promises for the young; they make each other youthful. Charles stays silent, smooths a hand across the broad planes of a shoulder blade, gliding over artificial hills and valleys. Erik sighs and radiates contentment. Charles feels his own eyes go hidden, half-lidded no longer with lust but from the low, pleased hum of Erik’s thoughts.

There was, Charles has noticed a marked difference in the minds of men like Erik. Those quirks, the strangeness, it’s always called to Charles. The winding process of his growing fascination is so tangled he doesn’t know if it created the scientist, or the scientist, it.

Erik melts like butter under his hands.

The lines on his back red hot and angry still, spreading out; his poetry sunk into Erik’s skin. There’s a patch work of older scars; some are fading lines from similar activities and others harsher, more sinister, sunk deep. Charles trails a hand across one of the crueler looking ones and thinks _this is what we work to erase, darling._ Erik stirs under the touch, tickle running through his thoughts and Charles can’t help but smile. It’s so mundane, so glorious. He gives in to the impulse to lay himself flat, winding over Erik’s back. The salve is sticky against his chest, his belly. It smears between them. Erik lets out a low groan.

“Charles,” he complains. “Haven’t you had enough of tormenting me today?”

Charles laughs into the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s never enough. I think you know that better than anyone,” he replies. Erik hums a low note in agreement. His back vibrates with the sound, just under where his neck meets his shoulders. Charles sinks into it, in to the low hum of pleasure that sluices through is bones.


End file.
